


Into the Unknown

by greyvvardenfell



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26928298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyvvardenfell/pseuds/greyvvardenfell
Summary: Morrigan takes an opportunity to prepare for her return to the Frostbacks while Warden Reydis Brosca is exploring the Deep Roads.
Relationships: Morrigan & Warden (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai/Brosca
Kudos: 1





	Into the Unknown

Wind rolled off the peaks of the Frostbacks, tugging strands of hair from beneath her hood as Morrigan turned to survey the path she had just traversed. Snow nestled in shadows under the tall pine trees flanking the trail, though the sunlight filtering through the boughs threatened to melt it away. Summer’s last wildflowers dropped their petals into her footprints, spattered like blood in the dust.

How fitting.

The goatherd’s cabin couldn’t be much further up the mountain. Long abandoned, when the demand for fine mohair vanished with the Orlesians, whatever still stood of the little shack would suit her needs. She, who had run with wolves and soared the skies over the Wilds until barely a year ago, could make use of whatever she found here.

And wasn’t that her whole purpose, after all? Snapping at the heels of opportunity, lest it flee faster than she could chase? Though the plan was her own, now, with Flemeth’s corpse rotting into foul southern swampwater, slain by the very hand that still held her reins.

Only Reydis’s journey into the Deep Roads had provided this chance. The mountains were vast, remote and unexplored, if Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes were anything to judge by. Ferelden’s newest Warden had been gone for months, trudging through the ruins of her people’s lost civilization in pursuit of a dream long dead, or so Morrigan assumed. It would be a miracle if she survived.

But Reydis was no stranger to miracles. If anyone could retrieve Branka, she could. She had only grown stronger as a Warden, more confident and decisive. Especially after she and Zevran…

Morrigan cut off the thought with a derisive snort. That charming rogue certainly must be something, to have distracted Reydis so convincingly. A shame _he_ could not provide what she sought.

The cabin’s walls were more moss than wood, but jutted out of the rocky soil like the faces of cliffs against the sea. It would do. She wouldn’t be far along anyway, when she returned here. At that stage, a child, if it could even be called such, was resilient. Nigh invincible, unless the proper measures were taken. 

Especially hers.

Especially then.

Morrigan did not look upon her task, her gift, with anticipation. However confident she was in the magic her mother’s grimoire had shown her, she, for the first time, feared her own resolve. These people, as strange as it felt, had become something akin to friends. The wolves and the ravens, the squirrels and the frogs… they were suitable enough companions for a child, and before she left the Wilds, Morrigan was content with their empty-eyed loyalty. But Reydis and Zevran, Sten and Shale, even Leliana, as insufferable as she could be with her head in the Chantry clouds, saw her as more than her magic or her mother’s newest protege. And Alistair…

She shook her head to clear it this time. It would not do to linger on the thought of what his future held. No concern of hers, once she’d gotten what she came for. The child would be no more his than it was the Archdemon’s, despite the participation of them both. 

Gathering firewood and soft grasses filled the afternoon. Piled neatly, stacked just so, she wouldn’t need to busy herself with such preparations when she was exhausted and road-weary. She would return to this place, her own haven, in due time.

Provided Reydis would slacken her grip on the puppet strings Flemeth had attached to Morrigan’s limbs.

Provided Morrigan could apply the proper leverage, perhaps in the form of smiling Antivan eyes, to convince her friend not to die.

Provided Alistair would agree to what would seem to him like torture, divine punishment handed down from the Maker as retribution for his imagined sins. 

With so much yet to be decided, Morrigan soothed herself by tucking the small silver mirror Reydis had given her, a scrap of happiness from a more innocent past, into the bundle of grasses she had gathered. If nothing else, it could serve as a beacon for a new future, set high on the Frostbacks’ flanks to guide her on into the unknown.


End file.
